


The Sound of Pain

by maryfic



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Graphic Description, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pedophilia, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>: After the events of “Profiler, Profiled”, Morgan fights not to drown, and Reid recalls he has a key to Morgan’s house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Pain

They’d gotten back to Virginia late. Surrounded by the familiarity of his truck, Morgan closed his eyes and slid his hands over the steering wheel before cranking the cold engine. Home meant autopilot: go bag emptied into the low plastic laundry basket, what he was wearing ended up on the floor for the next day, padding barefoot into the bathroom and twisting the old shower taps before stepping into the claw foot bathtub he’d installed last summer as a gift to himself after long cases. 

Standing there, with the steam building in his plastic encased world, Derek closed his eyes and saw Buford, sitting there, mocking him. Wishing him clear ill, and worst of all, reminiscing about what he’d done to a lonely, worshipful boy. The memories spun out behind his eyelids, the first trip to the cabin. He’d been so very excited, his mama proud that he’d gotten such a reward, his sisters and the other kids jealous that he was the sole recipient of Coach’s attentions. Alone, in the woods, it had been easy to let go, to accept the first passes of affection as normal, even wanted. After losing his father, Derek had thought he’d just die, but Carl had come along and saved him from a lot of things – and sent him down a dark road full of terrors Morgan didn't want to relive. 

He could feel Carl’s hands, strong on his young frame, and how he’d leaned into it, the older man’s body strong and protective. It hadn’t been quick, it had been slow, the seduction, the abuse, teaching Derek to seek out the older man’s touch and approval. That was the worst part, he thought, nausea and arousal rising at the same time as his mind recreated the first time Carl had kissed him, hot and insistant, behind the community center, after football practice. He’d been scared, but willing – 

_God, it had felt so good, so nice for someone to pay attention to him. Derek knew the rumors about Coach, but he liked the way the older man took care of him, and told him all the right things, and made it feel so damn good, so right, to open his mouth, to slide his hands around to meet behind Carl’s head as they kissed, an unfamiliar hardness rising between his thighs and Carl’s pleased murmurs…_

The sick feeling boiled over and vomit spewed from Derek’s mouth as he sank to his knees, the memories overwhelming him. Tears and hot water sluiced the evidence down the drain, and he stayed there on his knees, trembling as, his skin goose pimpled, caught in the trap of the past. 

*****  
Spencer wasn't happy. He’d gone through his normal routine post-case, and now, after a hot shower, he was curled up on his couch examining his mood and trying to figure out the problem. It didn't take much puzzling to come around to Morgan. 

His friend had clearly been distressed by the case and what they’d had to do to solve it. Not being the kind of person to press emotional issues, Spencer had left Morgan alone on the plane and after, when they’d been walking out together, the signals were clear enough even to him that Morgan wanted to be left alone. Far, far, alone.   
Spencer worried his lip and got up off the couch. He and Morgan had exchanged house keys for emergencies, and he was fairly sure this constituted an emergency, despite knowing what Morgan’s reaction would be (he was fairly certain of it, but not completely, which led to his current action). 

Getting redressed didn't seem as important as getting to his friend’s house, so he called a taxi and left the house in the clothes he was wearing – an old pair of sweats and a Cal Poly t-shirt with holes. Reid didn't even notice. He paid the rather swift cabbie and stepped out into the darkness. He noticed the lack of lighting in the house before him, but Reid rightly concluded that Morgan was likely in the back part of the house, where the bedrooms and bath were. The key turned easily, and he could hear running water as he crossed the threshold. 

Reid’s shadow crossed the floor before he got there, and was dispersed by the light coming from the open bathroom door.   
He called out. 

“Morgan?” 

The lack of answer worried him and he moved with sure steps through the living room and into the doorway of the bathroom. A fast scan took in the scene, and two steps brought him to the bath and twisting the curtain back to see Morgan curled in the tub, the water cool but not chilled, beating down on him in what appeared to be the needlepoint massage setting. 

Reid spoke his friend’s name again as he turned off the water. With it turned off, he could hear quiet, desperate sobs coming from below him, slightly amplified and muffled at the same time by Derek’s body and the porcelain of the tub. 

Spencer’s mind threw facts at him as he worked to bring Morgan back to himself with soft words and recognition phrases – who Derek was, who he, himself was, where they were, and things of that nature. His hands found the towel hanging on the rack and draped it over the wet, nude, form; and the action caused Derek’s head to raise and swivel, the dark brown eyes glassy. 

“Hey, there you are,” Reid said quietly, squatting next to the tub. “Derek, it’s me, Spence.” 

His friend stared through him, and with a snap, something changed, and he was looking at Morgan again, a shaking, pained, distressed Morgan, but he was responsive now, and that was a step forward. Spencer moved slowly back from the tub to find another towel as Derek stood, fighting cramping muscles with small whimpers.   
He stood there, huddling under the towel and shivering until Reid came back and offered him a second towel. When no move was made to take it, he said, “Morgan, can I put this around your waist?” 

A quick, jerky nod and Spencer moved closer, wrapping the cotton around Morgan’s lean hips and tucking it as securely as he could. He put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and encouraged him to step out of the tub. Morgan responded to the slight stimulus and steps out, into Reid’s personal space. 

They freeze like that, a tableau of awkward for a brief moment before Spencer steps back and gives Derek some space, which oddly, the other man steps into. He doesn't seem to mind Reid’s touch, or presence, and Spencer sighs with relief inwardly. Victims of sexual abuse can have many different reactions to reliving the trauma, and he was afraid that an aversion to touch by a man, even someone as non-threatening as he is, would have set off his friend again. 

They move into Derek’s bedroom. Spencer eases him down onto the bed, Derek much more pliant than Spencer has ever seen him, and moves to the dresser, turning on the lamp there and opening drawers. 

The silence is broken by Derek, and his word is loud in the quiet of the house. 

“No.” 

He turns back to the bed. “No what, Derek?” 

“No, no clothes. Just…” There is no end to the sentence, but Reid nods and comes back, taking the damp towels and making sure Morgan isn’t literally dripping on the bed before pulling the covers back. Derek needs no urging and curls up on himself, leaving a little room for Spencer to sit beside him, his hand trapped between Derek’s as they sit there and the house settles again. 

Morgan doesn't seem to want to talk about it, but Spencer wonders if that’s really good for him at this point, and takes the devil’s own road when he speaks. 

“Derek, are you – do you want to-“ 

He is a genius, but all the words in the world can’t help him now. And statistics are cold, too cold for the hurting flesh and blood man beside him. 

Finally, “I liked it.” A broken admission, something he has told no one. But Buford knew. He always knew. 

Spencer breathes, calmly, evenly, trying to get Derek’s breath to match his as he wonders how to respond. Surely Derek has heard the trite phrasings over and over in their line of work and doesn't need or want to hear them again. But it is all he has, and so it is what he offers. 

“It is common for victims of sexual abuse to feel aroused by the act. But pleasure is an emotion; it is in your head. Genitals do not have a brain; therefore, you could not possibly have liked anything that man did to you.” It is logical, sensible. 

When he dares to look down, Derek’s eyes are closed, but he is not sleeping. Spencer can tell these things, it is a side effect of being a genius. And knowing simple vital signs. But he is speaking, softly, so softly Reid can barely hear him, and it is too dim to read his lips, so he concentrates very hard on listening. 

To the sound of pain. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> This story was both hard and easy for me to write. I felt that there needed to be a friendship Derek/Spencer story where they began to deal with Morgan's past, without sexual tension between them. 
> 
> Comments are love.


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